The little teapot sits fingers tapping.
Beware of it's impatient rapping on the table.
Steam pours out it's heated spout, and rises in the air.
The children gathered gleefully for tea.
The table laid with sugary cakes and treats to eat.
Not all is always as we see it to be.
A dark feeling looms in the air.
Not a minute to spare.
Evil is there.
Hear the little children scream and shout.
Little fingers scalded as tea pours out.
Their little feet run to and fro.
They didn't know the tea pot was up to no good.
The shop keeper should of told of the teapots story.
Of the gory history of children burned.
Tiny fingers lost.
In time people learned the teapot was possessed.
Always to late, their fate to have fingers charred and burned.
Each time the teapot once again given away.
It sits on the shop keepers shelf to stay.
Soon another victim to carry it away.
People say the spirit of a small boy was burned long long ago.
Trapped in the teapot his spirit does stay.
Run away little children when its time for tea.
He wants your fingers.
This is the sad tale of the teapot that shouldn't be.
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Self Made Poetry 2
PoetryMy self written poetry, of different varieties. All writing is original, artwork is not mine.
